


"i am someone who did not die when i should have died."

by notjustmom



Series: "You remember too much..." [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternative Tarmac scene, F/M, M/M, Missing scenes from HLV, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-27 20:05:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13255650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: Yesterday, after I marathoned TBB - THoB, I considered what John would have done after Sherlock shot Magnussen and up to the Tarmac scene... this will be a bit darker than most of my usual bits, but will eventually get to the Tarmac scene that I wanted to see.





	1. Chapter 1

John watched Sherlock sink to his knees and then he just let him be led away without a word. Yes, there was the noise and all the men dressed in black with guns pulling him away - away from his friend again, but he could have said something - anything, touched him, told him - and then he remembered, back at the house, Sherlock's parents, and Mary - Mary, the reason - she - he had just forgiven her - given his word to Sherlock that he would - what - he blinked hard once, then cleared his throat and in his best Captain Watson voice, demanded to be returned to the Holmes house, his wife, his pregnant wife was there, he needed to - he shielded his eyes as he watched Sherlock take off with his brother in a helicopter - Sherlock hadn't even argued, he hadn't uttered another word after - "Tell Mary she's safe now."

All for Mary, even after - John strode to one of the black sedans, no emotion on his face as he slid into the car, but his left hand, the tell-tale tremor betrayed him once again, though no one said a word, Sherlock would have noticed, would have seen, understood, but, he - he was already gone, again. He closed his eyes and felt for his phone. It was still on, still carried a signal - he considered trying to call Sherlock, even just to get the annoyed, "Anyone who knows me, knows I don't chat, but if you must, leave a message after the ----" John nearly laughed, he had recorded the message years ago, could never speak fast enough, or use less words, and he had finally given up after five tries. Mycroft had given John his phone, he had 'retrieved it' and had 'thought John would have wanted to have it as a token of -' He had stopped speaking, then left the phone on the kitchen counter and left the flat.

 

I know you probably won't see this, but I, there are things I need to say. - J 

His finger hovered over 'send' for a moment before he shrugged and pressed it. What will it matter now?  
Above him, Sherlock felt the vibration of his phone in his coat pocket and closed his eyes.

I'm not sure what I should say, what the appropriate response is. 'Thank you?' or 'I'm sorry?' or 'What the bloody hell was that?' I'm assuming shooting him was not your original endgame. I suppose the question I want answered finally, is why? - J

 

"Go ahead," Mycroft muttered, not unkindly. "You know you want to."

Sherlock stared straight ahead, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, then glanced down, trying for indifference, though he knew his brother could see everything etched into his features - he didn't even know why he bothered trying to pretend with him, and he sighed as he saw 2 unread messages from myblogger. "Just take care of them, make sure they are safe, please." He turned off his phone, dropped it back into his pocket, then closed his eyes once more.

"Of course."

 

John walked back into the warm kitchen he had left less than four hours earlier, closed the door quietly behind him, and leaned against it, trying to force himself to calm down.

"John?" Mary looked over from the sink and knew, but asked anyway. "Sherlock?"

Wiggins cleared his throat a bit nervously, then muttered, "his parents were a bit groggy, but they are fine, your missus and I got them to bed - baby's fine. He - Shez - Sherlock, that is, thought there was the possibility he wasn't going to come back - he believed - he said, 'the best course of action is for the two of you, the three of you to stay here until things blow over'..."

John nodded. "Right. I'm just going to make sure they are okay, and then I'm - I need to -" Mary watched as his left hand clinched into a fist and sighed as he silently left the kitchen.

"Things will work out, they always do." Wiggins mumbled, as if trying to convince himself.

Mary shook her head as she dried off another plate and put it away in the cupboard. "Eventually, no matter how hard you try - no matter how badly you want to - it catches up to us all, in the end, Billy." She offered him a tired smile and laid down the dishtowel. "Should he want me - he probably won't, just tell him I've gone to our room."

"Missus."

 

John sank into the deep chair by the fire and pulled out his phone. No messages. He hadn't expected any, but hope - hope was always his enemy. Always had been.

 

That night - before the Mayfly client interrupted - if - I - if you had asked me, if you had just said. No - I had chances, but I - shit. deletedeletedeletedelete.....

John dropped the phone back into his pocket and took a sip of the brilliant scotch that Mycroft had given to his father for Christmas. It burned on its way down, but helped to numb things a bit. He closed his eyes and tried not to replay the events of the last hours, but failed. All he could see and hear was Sherlock grabbing his gun from his pocket out of sheer rage and putting a bullet into Magnussen's head. His eyes popped open. "It should have been me. I should have -" He laid his glass down and pulled out phone again.

 

"I should have done it. I'm sorry, Sherlock. Forgive me." - J 

 

He threw his phone against the wall and closed his eyes again, this time finally falling into an uneasy rest.

 

Sherlock finally turned on his phone again and sighed as he read all three messages, then typed out a single sentence, handed his phone once again to Mycroft and stretched out on the thin mattress in his cell.

 

I am someone who did not die when I should have died. - S

 

Mycroft looked at his brother and rolled his eyes at him. "He will want to see you."

"I don't want to see him."

"You will change your mind, brother mine."

"Go away, Myc, just leave me alone."

"Very well."

Sherlock closed his eyes as he heard the door close and the odd silence of his brother's steps, he had missed that his brother wasn't carrying his umbrella.

"I'm sorry, John."


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you want?" Sherlock glared at the ceiling.

"You aren't eating."

"And?"

Mycroft looked down at the grey concrete floor, so very different from the carpeted office he had just left, the tea was still warm, he supposed, as he brushed a forgotten crumb from his otherwise immaculate suit. And he was carrying his umbrella once again, Sherlock noted.

"And....?"

"I did my best."

"Right."

"You made a decision. A rash one at that."

Sherlock counted the holes in the ceiling once more, for the twelfth time in two days.

"I could not risk - I occupy a small - I am just a cog in the -"

"Are they safe?"

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at his brother's still form. "They are with our parents still. As you suggested. John is sleeping on the -"

"I don't believe I asked for any intimate details. I just asked if they were safe. How much time do I have?"

Mycroft cleared his throat.

"I have had two days to do nothing but consider my current circumstances. You obviously made some sort of deal to, what, make me go away as quietly and as cleanly as possible? Let me think...hmmm... the job offer in Eastern Europe, perhaps? The one that you believe will kill me in six months or less? That was the best you could do, the best you were willing to - no, it's fine, Mycroft, I know, I have 'utility,' but I'm too dangerous now to let loose in polite society, in your polite society. You know I could simply vanish into the streets and you would never see me again. Especially with all of that 'on the job training' I had during my time away. I could brush up against you and you wouldn't know it was me, but - no. It's best this way. So, what - five days?"

Mycroft nodded. "John sent a note asking to see you."

"NO."

"Sherlock."

"What is the point, Mycroft?" He sat up slowly, and Mycroft could see the exhaustion, no, it wasn't sleeplessness he saw, his brother had finally given up. "What is the point, Myc? I have done everything I could to keep her, him, them all safe - I tried to keep my vow, Mycroft - I understand now, what you were always trying to make me see. Sentiment." He sighed and met Mycroft's worried eyes. "All right, I'll meet him before I get on the plane, I don't know what more he wants from me. But, it -" He fell into a silence and laid back down again. Mycroft watched him for a moment, then looked down his watch, he had a phone call to make, appointments to keep - "Go. Don't let me keep you, brother mine," Sherlock muttered quietly at the ceiling. "Twenty-three, twenty four, twenty-five..."

 

John looked at his phone, then at Mary who was sitting in the chair next to the fire. She was knitting. Sherlock's mother had noticed that Mary had appeared bored, and offered her the knitting basket. He nearly snorted, but managed to hold it in, before he murmured, "He'll see me before his plane takes off."

Mary shot him a look.

"Plane?"

"Apparently, the powers that be have decided that he is too inconvenient for the prison system, and are sending him on another 'job.' "

"Shit."

"You know, you really should try to watch your language, with a baby coming and all." John tried to soften his tone, but Mary raised an eyebrow at him. "And yes, I know what it means. It means he is never coming back. They are sending him on a suicide mission, and it's my fault."

"John."

"I never should have - he was better off -" He shook his head and closed his eyes, and the world seemed to stop for the briefest of moments. "I need to get some air." He bent down over her and kissed her hair. "I won't be long, don't worry. They took my gun - evidence and all that - let Mrs. Holmes know I'll be in for tea."

Mary nodded and watched him grab his coat, wondering if she would ever see him again. Then she remembered who he was and went back to her knitting.


	3. Chapter 3

"Never seen him like that before."

John looked over and saw Wiggins leaning against the house, he had almost forgotten he was there. "Like what?"

"The night he came to find me, the last time."

"Which was, when, exactly?"

Wiggins studied his face for a moment, then shrugged. "Had to be the night of your 'big do.' The wedding?"

"Bloody hell," John whispered, and sat down on the step hard, not caring that it was still cold and damp, and the snow was beginning to fall again.

"Still wearing his fancy threads. I teased him a bit - asked who the dame was - even though I knew -"

"Knew what?" John looked down at his hands and waited.

"We all knew - the first time we saw you two together. Always wondered why -"

John glanced up at him as Wiggins' voice faded. "Knew WHAT?"

Wiggins moved to sit next to him on the stoop and shook his head. "Doc. Really?" He flinched, already having been on the receiving end of John's temper; John sighed and raised his hands.

"Please?"

"He - everything - since the day you shot the cabbie for him - every single thing he's ever done - wisely or not so much, has been done for you. He worked all those cases, even the boring ones, the ones he could solve in two minutes - he wanted you to stay. He thought if he -"

"Billy?"

Wiggins stopped speaking and met John's eyes. "Doc?"

"Tell me, when he, when he jumped -"

"There were snipers - one on Mrs. H, one on that DI and one on you. He did it because he had no choice - just like now - he made you and the Missus a vow, he called it - a promise - 'a fool's errand' I called it and told him so, to his face, but he just smiled at me sadly and shook his head. And what did he say to me, same thing he always said to me?"

John tried to find the words to stop him, but he knew the answer already.

"It didn't matter what happened to him, all that mattered was that you were happy. You were gonna have a family, and things were gonna be different once he was gone, guess he figured if he wasn't around, you and the Missus would be safe. But he doesn't know, does 'e? Because you never told him. Fer all yer education, both you and Shezz - Sherlock, you two have been royal idiots in every sense of the word, haven't ya? He's got street smarts, and book smarts, but - people, he thinks he knows so much - but he doesn't think too much of himself, because he's always taken what people think of him to heart. You - he thought, you were different. I warned him. I did. Came to see me - after one of your cases - told me all about how you - you were - no, he didn't use, just wanted to tell someone - ya see, he didn't, doesn't have anyone, not like you do, you got the Missus and the baby comin', but back when you were there - at Baker Street - he thought he'd finally found the one person who'd always have his back." Wiggins looked him over and shook his head. "If he really meant anything to you, ever, you'd make that pompous brother of his get you in to see him before too much longer. You need to tell him."

"Tell him, what?" John muttered as he looked away.

"If I need to tell ya, then I was mistaken, Doc. It's getting cold, and it's nearly tea time. I'm going in."

John watched him turn away, then looked down at his hands again and closed his eyes, then pulled out his phone.

 

Get me in to see him. TODAY. - JW

Impossible. - MH

Nothing is impossible, Mycroft. I need to see him within the hour, even if you have to send me a fucking helicopter to drop me over the fucking prison. I will see him TODAY. - JW

The car will be there in ten minutes. - MH

Mycroft. - JW

John. - MH


	4. Chapter 4

"John. I told Mycroft -"

John nodded at the guard, who opened the door and let him in, then closed the door again and stood close by, as if John was going to help him escape somehow.

"Shut up."

Sherlock's mouth clamped shut in surprise as he looked up at John as he began to pace in the tiny area allowed.

"Give me a minute, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded and waited, patiently, which told John all he needed to know. "You aren't eating. Or sleeping. I know - you - they are - going to send you on a suicide mission - but you are - damn it." He pinched his nose and took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "When I came back to London, after Afghanistan - I had nothing. I had lost everything, everything I thought was important, and then, I met you. That gun - that gun that you used to kill Magnussen? The same one I used to kill Jefferson Hope, because I thought - I believed you were in danger - I was going to use that gun - that afternoon, if I hadn't run into Mike, and you gave me a choice - to look at a flat with a complete nutter - or put a bullet in my brain. Some days, I wonder, if I had made a different choice - you wouldn't -"

"NO. You still - after all this time? Hell, it doesn't matter now, does it?"

"What?"

Sherlock got to his feet and laid a shaky hand on John's face, then leaned over him, and kissed his forehead gently, sighing as John all but tumbled against his chest and wrapped his arms around him. "A bit late in the day for confessions, isn't it?" Sherlock snorted into John's hair, but let his other hand rest on the small of John's back as he pulled him closer.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, John."

"Isn't there anything? Anything at all that can be done?"

"What do you want, John?"

John's breath caught and he looked into Sherlock's wary, but bright eyes and shook his head. "Now, you ask me?"

"Yeah, I know - timing, my timing has always been a bit suspect."

John leaned into Sherlock's chest again, and pressed a kiss over the scar that Mary had given him. He felt Sherlock shiver and try to pull away, but he held onto him. "I - have been a coward, Sherlock. I have always tried to be what other people expect me to be, want or need me to be. You were the first person, the only person to see me, all of my flaws, and what I was capable of, and I couldn't believe that I was enough - that I could ever be what you needed. And now -"

"Shh." Sherlock laid a finger on his lips and shook his head. "It's enough, John, that I know, even now, it's enough." He kissed him once, and pulled away, a slight smile dancing on his lips. "Guard!"

"Mr. Holmes."

"Dr. Watson will be leaving now. And he will not be coming back."

"Sir."

John laid a hand over Sherlock's chest, and felt his heartbeat against his fingers, then nodded, and left the tiny room, without a backward glance.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mrs. Holmes proves to be a bad arse....

Christina Jane Holmes, in her mathematician days, went by C.J., which as you might imagine always took her male counterparts by surprise and caused them some consternation when they met her for the first time. Back in the day, b.c. as her husband Charles would call the time period, 'before children,' she was quite a striking figure, small in stature, but - well, to be honest, as Charles would confide to Mary, she was 'hot.' And her temper, though some thought her to run cold, could flash just as brightly as her long lashed ice blue eyes, if given cause. 

This morning, as Christina placed a fresh scone and cup of herbal tea in front of Mary, the former assassin looked at the older woman and knew she had met her match.

"Mary."

"Mrs. Holmes."

"Please, call me C.J." Her smile would have fooled most people, but Mary saw the daggers behind the dazzling blue - she knew because she had often worn that disguise before, in her previous career.

"C.J."

"Now. We are both women of above average intelligence, and as you have met my sweet, but average husband, you must know where my sons get their gift for observation. You and I both know that you are not pregnant, and John would have known had the two of you ever shared a bed together since Sherlock dropped his unfortunate bombshell - you have to understand, my dear - please, eat the scone while it's still warm - my son had been through a couple of traumatic years, and he picked up on the clues you so neatly laid out for him, poor boy, leading him to believe any chance he had with John was lost forever. He does tend to be a romantic. But that wasn't enough for you my dear, was it?" She calmly took a sip of her tea, then laid the fragile cup gently back into its plate without betraying any sign of outward emotion. 

Mary wondered how she had been fooled so long. 

"You had to shoot him as well? No, I know. If you had truly wanted to kill him, you would have, child's play for you, but you knew John was there in the building with him, of course he was. So you had to make sure he wouldn't follow you, and would spend considerable time recuperating, and you might be able to convince him to keep your secret from John - you do love him, don't you, Mary?"

Mary looked down into her tea, then raised her eyes and nodded. "I do. Honestly. And I do like Sherlock very much."

"Strange. Most people don't. But then, you aren't most people, are you, my dear? He understood you, without knowing why, precisely, and because John had picked you, out of anyone he could have chosen, he believed that you made John happy, and after what he had put John through, he wanted John to be happy, so, he of course -"

"What do you want me to do?" Mary mumbled.

"What you should have done when you understood what they were to each other; bow out gracefully. But you will also help make sure my son never leaves on that plane in two days. No, my dear - we are both too smart for you to pretend you don't know what I am talking about. You're not the only one with access to inaccessible files... who do you think taught Sherlock how to recognise patterns and - yes, very good my dear. In you previous employment, you worked for the late Colonel Sebastian Moran, who had made videos of the late Jim Moriarty, just in case - one does have to admire his ability to foresee events..."

"It will take me some time." Mary tried to regain her footing in the conversation, knowing it was hopeless already.

"My dear, you have less than 48 hours, before my son is meant to be exiled to certain death."

"If I succeed?"

"When my son is released from custody, you will write your husband a note, send him a text, or leave him a voice mail, informing him of your decision to dissolve the marriage; you can claim anything you wish, and you will be free to go anywhere you choose, but you will never step a foot, fingernail or eyelash in England again, and as far as John and Sherlock are concerned, you will cease to be a problem. Are we clear?"

"Crystal. C.J. - If I may?"

"Yes, Mary?"

"What gave me away?"

"My dear, don't worry, you haven't lost your edge, I could just tell - a woman who has had children knows when another woman is pretending to be pregnant. And, you left your bedroom door open just wide enough the second day you were here as you were adjusting the padding - always make sure the doors are closed completely, especially in older houses, sometimes the doors may fail to close as firmly as one wishes. It is a shame, I almost found myself hoping I was wrong about you, I was beginning to see what Sherlock saw in you. And don't worry - I didn't drug the tea or the scone, in case you were curious. I leave that kind of shenanigans to the boys. I can usually get what I want without resorting to drugging one's opponent."


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft spent the next thirty-six hours watching Sherlock from the comfort of his carpeted office. Something had changed since Dr. Watson's visit. Somehow there was no footage of it, and the guard had been strangely unforthcoming about what had taken place. He shrugged as he leaned back in his chair and observed his brother. He had started to eat again, and apparently decided that sleeping was no longer as abhorrent as it had been at their last face to face meeting. And there was something dangerously close to hope in his eyes. He wanted to know what had transpired in that brief less than five minutes - perhaps they had finally spoken? Mycroft narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer to the the screen.

 

Sir - your mother. - A

Mycroft started and sat up, then looked at his phone. No lines were lit up.

You mean she's here? - MH

Quite so, sir, and she brought cake. - A

Send her in. Please. - MH

 

He wondered what looming disaster precipitated his mother's venture not only into London, but to his office, the last time - no - best not to think on it.

"Mummy." Again, he wondered what it was about her that made her always feel like he was still ten years old, even though he was essentially the leader of the not so free world.

"Mycie." She kissed both his cheeks and settled herself into the seat across from him. "Your assistants could use some feeding up, I'll make up some nice gingerbread next time you visit so you can bring it in for them."

"Mum?"

"Right. I would like to visit Sherlock, in private. As it will be the last time I see him -"

"Of course."

"Today. As soon as possible."

"Naturally. I will have a driver take you at once." He took a breath and raised an eyebrow at her, then closed his mouth tightly.

"Mycroft. If you have something you want to ask, just do so."

"Mum. Are you - planning something?"

"What could I possibly be planning, dear boy?" He shrugged and pressed his intercom, asking for a driver to come to his office at once.

"Thank you, dear boy, I will give him your regards." 

"Of course, Mum. Do be careful."

"Always." She gave him a brilliant smile and pinched his cheek, perfectly normal behaviour for her, but Mycroft felt he had missed something.

 

"Mummy?" Sherlock sat upright on his cot, then stood up as the guard opened the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I know you are preparing to say good-bye to John and Mary tomorrow, don't do - I know how sometimes, when you are under stress, that you may choose to -"

"Medicate?" Sherlock whispered in her ear.

"It's fine, Mycroft has turned off the camera and audio for our visit. Yes, give it to me. Whatever you were planning on taking, trust me, you'll want to have your best game tomorrow, and you want John to believe that you would choose to be with him, if it were possible, yes?"

Sherlock watched his mother's face and shook his head. "Mum. You know something."

"What could I possibly know, dear boy? Just - please - give me what you have stashed away."

He nodded and reached under his cot and pulled out a packet, "I had decided if I couldn't stay - I would -" He pushed it into her hands and slowly collapsed into her arms.

She wrapped her arms tightly around him and held him for a long while, until the guard looked up at the camera, the lights were coming back on. She nodded and kissed his untamed curls. "Trust me, Sherlock. Just show up tomorrow, and tell him, everything, everything you wanted him to know. I know how hard it is to admit when you love someone. Your father simply terrified me, he wore his love so easily that I nearly walked away, I didn't think it could be that simple." She waited for him to pull away, then she met eyes that matched her own, and watched as the light flashed back at her. 

"I know, Mum. I'm not afraid anymore, I have nothing left to lose."


	7. Chapter 7

The plane was waiting. Mary was there in her bright red coat, next to John, he was at attention, his resting position when under stress, they both looked as if they were going to their own executions, instead of him. He ruffled his hair and glanced in the mirror, just to what, he wasn't sure. He sighed, then got out of the car and walked slowly over to them, smiling at Mary's shy glance. She had never seemed shy before.

"I'll keep him in trouble," she murmured in his ear. Ah, good. Going for light banter.

"That's my girl." She turned towards Mycroft, then edged away, knowing they would want privacy.

"Do you think I could have a couple of minutes with him, as it will be the last time we will ever speak?"

Mycroft nodded, again, feeling somewhat at sea, but he and the two men he had felt necessary to bring along moved away, giving the two men a bit of space.

 

"So." John breathed out the word softly and Sherlock watched his face, closed down, and yet - he was working away at something.

"I can't - I - you -since I can't imagine we'll ever meet again. There's something I think you should know - something I've always wanted to tell you, always thought I'd have more time -"

"I love you," John blurted out.

"Yeah. That. Exactly. I, uhm, love you, too." Sherlock had to bite his lip to stop from smiling. Because it was ridiculous. Utterly the worst timing, on the worst day of his life. "Timing, John."

"Right." John covered his mouth with his hand, but Sherlock could hear the giggles.

"Do you remember, after you shot the cabbie, and we couldn't stop laughing?"

" 'We can't giggle at a crime scene,' but we did. That night, I wanted that night to last forever."

Sherlock reached out for John's hand and squeezed it. "I did too, John, I never thought I'd ever know what it felt like to have a friend. You are the very best person I've ever known, John Watson. And I've met quite a lot of people - you made my life - you made everything brighter, John. I was a lucky man the day you walked into the lab - don't forget - hmmm. To hell with it." He dropped John's hand took two steps closer, and removed his gloves, then shoved them into his pocket. "I want to -" he laid his hands gently on John's face and kissed him softly, sighing as he felt John return the kiss, then his strong fingers tangled into his hair, pulling ever so slightly. They kissed until John had to pull away to catch his breath. 

"Oh, Sherlock."

"I'm sorry?"

"No. Don't be, I just regret that -"

Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair, and nodded. "Yeah, I do too. Goodbye, John."

John nodded as he watched Sherlock turn and head towards the plane, then looked over at Mycroft, who wasn't standing there stunned at what had just transpired, but was busily tapping away at his phone. John turned and looked for Mary, but she had vanished. A ping on his phone broke him out of his reverie.

 

Don't just stand there, go after him, you fool. - Mary

 

"Sherlock. Wait." John dashed after him and pulled up a text from Lestrade.

 

He's back. Moriarty is back. - GL

 

Back at the Holmes' cottage, Charles looked over at Christina as they both watched the breaking news story about the image of Moriarty appearing on every screen, mobile and billboard in the country. "Well played, my dear."

She looked up from her knitting and flashed him her most innocent grin. "I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about, love."

"Yes, dear, shall I put the kettle on?"

"Please, love. Could be a long night."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and a bit of an epilogue...

"What a ridiculous day," John laughed as he pushed Sherlock up the steps and into the flat, then pushed him into the couch and gazed down into his eyes.

"Mycroft's face." Sherlock snorted, and they both started laughing again, until he sat up suddenly. "My mum -"

"Your mum?" John mumbled.

"She knew - she - Mary - God I'm slow. Damn. Back in Berlin, I was going after Moran - this was before you met Mary - it would have been a few weeks before you met her, before she began to work at your surgery. There had been someone I missed, his partner - I - god, John - I should have known - should have seen." Sherlock shook his head. "She was the last piece. And I let her get away."

John shook his head. "She's gone, love."

"How do you know, John?"

"Trust me, I know."

Sherlock pulled John into his arms and they groaned as they slotted together perfectly. "Damn."

"How are you feeling?"

"Me? I'm actually starving -" John looked down into his eyes and they burst into laughter again.

 

"Mum?"

"Sherlock, love, everything work out all right?"

"Yes, Mum. Thank you."

"What - I can't - I don't know what you mean -"

"Mum. She was never pregnant was she? You knew about Moran, her connections to Moriarty, you gave her an out, if she stopped my plane from taking off."

"John asleep?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he looked down at the man tucked around him, his hair tickling his ribs, his arms and legs wrapped tightly around him. "Yes, he fell asleep ten minutes ago. Mum - Thank you."

"Just love each other, Sherlock. That's all I've ever wanted for you, was someone who you loved and loved you in return. Now... if I can just figure out what to do with your brother..."

"Good night, Mum..."

"Sleep well, my dear."


End file.
